


Red Hood VS Batman

by sElkieNight60



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Based on a comic strip, Bat Bros Get Along, Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Bat Family Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Comfort, DaddyBats, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Parent Bruce Wayne, Se.N, bat dad, batfam, dad!bats, playfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-10-01 17:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20348881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sElkieNight60/pseuds/sElkieNight60
Summary: “Don't you think you could use a sidekick?”The suggestion was enough. Damian sat himself upright and allowed a mischievous smirk to twist his features as he tentatively took Bruce's hand.“Maybe,” he said, quirking an eyebrow. “Does my sidekick have a name?”Bruce scoffed light-heartedly. “Of course,” he said, helping Damian to his feet. “You can't have a Batman without a Robin.”Damian's smirk split into a grin.





	Red Hood VS Batman

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I want to give a MASSIVE thank you to InkyDandy, who can be found here: https://inkydandy.tumblr.com .
> 
> This fic was entirely inspired by their comic strip (which I was given permission to write as a fanfic), and I LOVE. I'm not sure I did it justice completely, but I'm still learning and I hope you enjoy it anyway - especially since I've basically been sitting on this for a month. Go check out the original comic on their blog if you haven't already seen it!
> 
> Finally, in my head, this was in the same 'verse as my previously written: '(Let me be) Your Shelter', because I have written it in the same style. So, uh, that is referenced, but if you haven't read it, no worries. It isn't necessary to do so to enjoy this fic.

“It's just for a month―two, tops,” Jason said, an unwitting lie, shuffling his feet on the one-hundred year old antique runner that had resided in Wayne manor longer than any of them. Bruce just stood there, stoic and unreadable as always, but with that spark of _something _in his eyes that always lingered and made Jason feel uncomfortable in that lanky, adolescent way that he hadn't had for years. He shuddered under the scrutiny, the gaze that made him feel as though he took up too much space and not enough all at once.

The words that tumbled off his tongue tripped over each other in his rush to explain, “Then I'll be out of your hair.”

The look Bruce gave him wasn't an expression he ever saw the man give Dick or Tim or Damian, but he didn't _hate it_, either. Which was why he immediately redirected it to the carpet.

“In and out so fast you won't notice.”

All because he'd been evicted from his apartment and the landlord was a nagging, middle-aged woman whose name wasn't Karen, but might as well have been. His apartment had, undeniably, been a shit-hole. Just a space to crash that wasn't a _literal _dumpster. Jason would be the first to admit he was lucky to have an open invitation to Wayne manor, otherwise he'd be on the streets, but the worst part of the whole situation was the tension he brought to the family. He _was _the dumpster fire, the black sheep.

_But―_ “You're welcome to stay as long as you like.” Bruce said, voice tight and controlled even as his fingertips fluttered by his side. The old man gave him the barest nudge of his head, lips twitching faintly at the corners. It was the happiest Jason had seen him in a long time.

Jason returned the words with a tight smile as he readjusted the duffle-bag slung over his shoulder, “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then―“Here,” Bruce said, going for the duffle. “I'll help you with your bags.”

Jason waved him off with his free hand, “It's fine.” He replied, readjusting it once more, if only out of nervousness. “I've only got the one. Rest is in storage. I'll call the company tomorrow, have them bring it round.”

“Oh. Right.” A frown settled into the lines on Bruce's forehead. “Then I'll show you to your room,” he said instead, leading him toward the stairs.

Jason brushed past with practiced ease, being sure to keep the lines of hostility out of his muscles as he moved in an effort to at least try and not further soil their muddy relationship.

“It's fine,” he responded, swiftly stepping around and leaving Bruce standing awkwardly at the base of the staircase. “I remember the way.”

Only when he was halfway up the stair case, almost to the landing, did Bruce speak again, with an almost knee-jerk start.

“_Jason_,” he called, probably louder than intended, if the startled expression on his features was anything to go by. Jason paused, long enough to note the hard swallow that preceded Bruce's next words as he managed to choke out, “I… I―I am happy to have you home.”

Jason couldn't help but return the feeling.

“Yeah,” he smiled, the expression pulling like an unraveling thread at the corners of his mouth. “Me too.”

~

Much to Damian's distaste, one month after Todd, Drake arrived.

“_My apartment flooded,”_ was the excuse he gave, but Damian didn't buy it. _“I just need somewhere to crash for a while.” _The house was becoming raucous; three robins in the nest was two too many.

Unfortunately, Bruce disagreed. With that barest twitch of his lips that Damian had learned to translate was his father's version of a beaming grin, he had welcomed Drake home in much the same manner that he had Todd―awkwardly and with no small amount of confusion.

Dinners were louder now. Todd alone was… _tolerable_ at the dinning table, he chowed down his food fast and then retired quickly, obviously unable to stand the numerous and largely unreadable glances from Father. Drake, however, complicated things. He _chattered_. And Father did absolutely nothing to shut him up, merely nodding and adding an occasional word now and again, completely ruining the quiet dinner's Damian had become used to. Even Pennyworth lingered in the doorway now, content to watch the banter and chastise whomever became too rowdy, along with Todd, who often chose to remain for the conversation rather than rushing off to his room. Occasionally, he too would add to Drake's incessant drivel. Then it would become a full blown debate before Damian could worm his way out of the room. Still, he thanked his lucky stars Dick hadn't chosen to come home―these two had nothing on Grayson, and he could speak from experience on that―and yet, at the same time, the missing member of their number burned a tiny hole in his heart. No matter how hard he tried to fill with other things, the feeling remained constant like the stars.

Though Damian soon found out he wasn't the only one who felt that way.

“Father…?” he inquired, knocking carefully on the study door one night, dinner behind them now.

Pushing the door open, he found the man sitting silently at his computer, doing nothing but watching the screen with his fingers interlaced underneath his chin. By the expression on his face, he knew this wasn't a moment he was supposed to see, but he felt drawn to the soft, sad lines drawn across his father's expression and felt compelled to discover the source of it. In all honesty, he shouldn't have been surprised by what he found when he crept close enough to see what the old man was looking at.

“So,” Damian quirked an eyebrow, and had the satisfaction of seeing Bruce nearly jump out of the chair. “You're spying on Grayson. I knew you had ways of keeping track. I just didn't know they were quite so… violating.”

Bruce pulled a face and Damian tried hard not to revel in how uncomfortable he looked. “Don't say that,” his father snapped, looking anywhere in the room but him.

“I assume he doesn't know?” Damian continued, feeling smug.

Bruce glanced back at him briefly, “No.”

“No,” he tutted, the smirk piercing his expression now. “You know he'd never speak to you again if he found out.”

_That _got his father's attention, the eyes shifting once more to settle more permanently on him, a familiar steely scowl returning as a dark cloud crossed his face. “Be careful what you say next, Damian,” he growled, though the young Robin found the display more amusing than threatening.

The young boy just waved him off, “Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. For a price.” Though he would never ruin Father's relationship with Grayson, Bruce didn't need to know that if Damian could use it as blackmail.

Dark eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” Bruce asked slowly, cautious.

There. Threaten a Robin or Batman's relationship to one and the man was like putty.

“I want to… see him too.”

The request was plain and simple, so he didn't understand the look of confusion Father gave him.

“The computer,” he elaborated, pointing toward it with a finger. “I want to watch.”

_That's creepy, _his mind supplied, the part of him that sounded suspiciously like Grayson. _It's weird to just watch your brother do mundane tasks._

It was, _but… but he could see his older brother. _He could check on him, not for long, but long enough.

The anger around Bruce's eyes faded as the man collected himself, taking a deep breath in. Then he instructed: “Close the door,” and Damian did as he was ordered before crawling up onto the man's lap and sitting so he could see the grainy footage of Grayson moving about his apartment.

The two of them sat there for a while, watching Dick make instant ramen and pottering about the place, picking up haphazardly thrown clothes that had never quite made it to the laundry.

When Damian broke the silence, the sound of his own voice surprised even himself. “He's moving oddly. He's injured.”

He felt Bruce's hair brush against his own as the man nodded, “Yes. He came home two nights ago from patrol a little worse for wear. I saw the bruise as he changed out of his Nightwing suit, it wasn't pretty.”

“Nothing broken though, right?” Damian asked, trying hard to keep the concern out of his voice, though he knew he wasn't entirely successful. Father's arms came up to encircle him and, because he wanted answers, he allowed the pseudo-hug―if it was the price he had to pay, then so be it.

“No, not as far as I can tell,” Bruce replied, holding Damian a little tighter. “But I don't think he should be out on patrol like that either, he doesn't have full range of movement.”

The young Robin harrumphed, folding his arms across his chest. “Then bench him.”

The idea earned him nothing but a chuckle and, “I can't bench him, Damian, he's an adult.”

“You can,” Damian insisted. “He'd listen to you.”

Bruce quirked an eyebrow at him, “I highly doubt that. In fact, I think he's more likely to listen to you.”

The boy snorted, “No. Grayson is a stubborn fool.”

“That we can both agree on,” Bruce acknowledged. “But he wouldn't be Dick if he wasn't.”

Damian lapsed into silence, but quietly he found himself concurring as his eyes followed Grayson around the screen. And then a thought occurred to him, “Did you watch Drake and Todd like this too?”

The reply once again sounded uncomfortable, but at least the answer was honest.

“Yes, I've always kept an eye,” Bruce grunted beside his ear. “We lead dangerous lives and our family seems unable to ask for help when they need it.”

Damian's eyes rolled of their own volition, “I wonder where they get that from.”

It earned him nothing more than a mildly amused snort.

~

When Dick eventually _did _come home it was with nothing less than his usual flare for the dramatic, and nobody except Alfred reacted at first, nothing past extreme discomfort and panicked confusion.

As it turned out, Dick had been suspended from the Blüdhaven Police Department.

The restless night bled into something almost serene and peaceful, like ink spilling across a page until not a trace of that anxious and stark white paper could be found. Then, after Bruce had declared Dick to be staying at Wayne Manor for the foreseeable future, with no small amount of firm instruction when he squeezed the oldest Robin's shoulder, Tim watched Dick send him a watery smile.

Tim felt a kind of wonder blossom in his chest as he trundled off to bed that night, Jason ahead of him and Damian behind, with Dick bringing up the rear as each of them bid each other a goodnight in their own signature way―a grunt here, a furtive glance and a nod there.

The manor was crowded with so many Robins, but the nest was warm.

The next day, Jason's stuff from the storage facility arrived. There was more of it than Tim had anticipated and he pursed his lips and squinted at it, as Alfred did much the same.

“It can't stay there,” the old butler sniffed, the sentence more of an order than a statement as the movers deposited the boxes in the hallway. “It needs to go somewhere else.”

The trouble was, no one quite knew what to do with it all until Bruce whizzed past them on his way out to WE, all standing around aimlessly wondering what could possibly be done with it all, and declared, “Whatever you don't need can go down to the cave.”

Whilst rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, possibly to expel some of the boundless energy he seemed to have, Dick offered Jason his help, proceeding then to dob in Tim and Damian as well before they could scamper. With Alfred there, they didn't pretend not to hear and dash off anyway―neither he nor Damian desired to scrub the showers with a toothbrush for the rest of the year.

Damian still groaned loudly and sank to the floor for a moment, wearing a scowl and shooting Dick the most wrathful glare Tim had ever seen the young boy deliver at his favourite brother.

Dick just returned the look with a bright, toothy grin, and a ruffle of the littlest Robin's hair as he swept past and followed Jason, picking up a box.

It was the latter who took the lead after lifting the heaviest box into his arms, clumsily thanking them for their help―as though he didn't really remember how to string such words together in front of his family―and then the four of them began their first descending march down into the depths of the basement as Jason continued, “You really don't have to do this.”

Tim wasn't completely sold off on the idea that Jason just didn't want them helping because Damian would undoubtedly stumble across something age inappropriate or the fact that Dick would definitely scold him when he did, but he still wisely kept his mouth shut.

“But we want to!” Dick piped up, wearing another of his trademark grins, like he was simply pleased that the four of them were in a room together and not yelling at one another. “Because we love you,” he went on, and Tim was only 70% percent sure the hitch in Jason's shoulders was due to an eye-roll instead of a wash of strong emotion rolling down his spine. “Isn't that right, guys?”

Tim considered Jason's tense shoulders and attempted to make his reply sound as genuine as possible, craning his neck over the two boxes in his arms. “Yup.” He said, popping the 'p'.

Damian had no such filter nor qualms with making his annoyance unwaveringly known, “_No_.”

~

The Cave was as dark and dank as he ever remembered it being, and it felt weird to be in such a familiar place that held such conflicting memories―the good, the bad and the _ugly__―_but Dick shook his head and cleared away his thoughts. Now was not the time to reminisce.

The Cave, despite its familiar angles and the old Batcomputer taking up its usual space, seemed to have accumulated more stuff of its own. At this point, adding Jason's stuff to the mix really didn't appear to have much effect.

Jason set his heavy box down on an unoccupied bench in a dark nook with a sigh and Tim and Damian followed suit, the latter sagging heavily over the boxes with the grumpiest expression. Dick set his own box down carefully, but couldn't help the wash of curiosity that overcame him.

What exactly was in these boxes that Jason had wanted to keep? He snuck a furtive glance to check whether or not Jason was looking, and when he saw his brother occupied with his own box, Dick decided a little peek wouldn't hurt.

A moment later he heard Tim exclaim, “Whoa,” and Damian smother a poorly concealed snigger of laughter, but he ignored it in favour of running his hand over the silver hand gun lying atop the pile of other junk inside the moving box. He lifted it out carefully and slipped it under the table, intending to come back for it later and get rid of it for good. If Jason ever found out he would be furious, but that was a bridge Dick would cross if they ever came to it.

Turning his attention back to the contents inside the box, Dick dug through it with a sincere hope he wouldn't find any more deadly weapons, but he stumbled across something _much _better.

A smile split across his face, “_Ha!_” he exclaimed, drawing Jason's attention. “You still have this!?”

It was Jason's old suit.

“Stop it,” he demanded, rounding on his older brother with a note that intoned violence if the order wasn't obeyed, even as Dick continued, “Man, that's stretchy!”

Behind him Dick could hear Tim attempting to catch Jason's attention, and when the boy started reciting lines from the matrix wearing Jason's old helmet, Damian beside him wearing a ridiculous blue bucket on his head, Dick seized the opportunity to dig through more of his younger brother's things.

He wasn't disappointed to find an old Robin cape in there. Quickly, he secured it to his neck and out of the corner of his eye he saw Jason smack a hand to his forehead as he declared, “I'm leaving.”

Dick rushed after his younger brother, already making his way to the stairs that lead back up to the main house, taking two strides for every one of Jason's as he brushed past Tim who was rambling something about installing new software still with the Jason's pill-shaped helmet on his head.

“Hey, Jay,” he called after, ideas already forming in his head. “What if I got my Discowing suit and you wore this and―”

Dick was cut off rather loudly and abruptly by Jason reaffirming his statement, “_I am leaving_.”

The tone pulled him up, but within arms length of Jason's sleeve, he grabbed onto it almost reflexively. The tug was enough to get the younger to round on him with tense muscles and crushed jaw.

“Whoa, Jason… we were just kidding around,” he said softly, taking in the genuine mix of embarrassment and anger in his face, the words only loud enough to be heard between the two of them. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Come back, we'll help you unpack the rest of your stuff.”

Jason deflated a little at the apology, running a ragged hand over his face as he mumbled out a semblance of some kind of apology of his own. “Sorry,” he muttered, accepting the olive branch with more maturity and grace than Dick had been expecting. “I just… there's a _reason_ that stuff is in boxes.”

Dick suddenly knew what he meant, there were plenty of memories of his own that he'd rather not dredge up. “I'm real sorry, Jay,” he said again, doubling down on his apology as he gently tugged tugged off his brother's old cape, holding the delicate memorabilia between his fingers with care before passing it to Jason. “Let's finish unpacking, huh?”

“Yeah... sure,” was the clipped reply he received as Jason took the cape with much less reverence. “Whatever.” But the man moved past him and headed back to where Tim and Damian were still scrounging through, so Dick counted it as a win.

The conversation resumed again, but there was nothing much to say between them as they went on unpacking, rifling through boxes and setting some aside as they made several trips up and down to collect all of Jason's things. It was only when Tim found a box full of jackets that the four of them said much past grunts and the occasional, 'yes' or 'no'.

“I guess you have to have a lot of these,” Dick said softly, catching Jason's attention as he lifted a soft black jacket out from within one of the boxes. Jason would surely be wanting these in his closet. “Huh.”

Tim seemed to be looking over a tan jacket and Damian was doing the same, but eyeing it suspiciously, as though there might be moths lurking in between the fabric folds.

“Yeah,” said Jason, turning back to whatever was in the box he'd previously been rummaging through. “It's nice to have spares.”

Tim declared that he liked the tan jacket―which Dick took to mean that it would now be making it's new home in _Tim's _closet―and shrugged it on over his orange shirt. It was an almost comical sight, mostly from the fact that Tim simply _drowned _in Jason's clothes; they were much too big for him and Dick could only hope he grew into it.

Then, between a pile of old, holy socks and a dressing gown that had probably once been a nice cream instead of a dusky yellow, Dick saw _it;_ a red domino mask nestled near the bottom of the box.

A surge of fondness swelled within his chest as he stared down at it, and then the feeling twisted inside him and morphed into something cheeky and playful. In the end, he just couldn't help himself, he _had _to put it on.

“Check it out!” he laughed, drawing all eyes in the room, “I'm Red Hood!”

Tucking his ring and pinky fingers into his palms, he brandished his hands like guns, jerking them up and down as though he could feel the recoil of fired bullets through his wrists as he let out a wild cry and took aim at Jason's back with a, “_Bang, Bang, Bang!_

For a moment Jason didn't react past rolling his eyes and then leveling Dick with a deadpan expression before turning back to whatever box he'd been working through, but that didn't satisfy the playful Robin rearing back to life inside Dick's chest and he shifted his stance.

It was by accident that he overbalanced by an inch too much, his fingers driving through the space between them until he jabbed Jason's in the back and was met with an affronted, “Hey!”

The indignant shout dropped the moment of levity like gravity had literally taken hold, the light and playful feeling crashing to the ground like that one china tea set Alfred was always so protective over.

Behind him Dick heard a faint gasp, possibly from Tim, but before the apology on the tip of his tongue could wend its way out of his mouth, Jason rounded on him with a smirk that felt antithetical to the emotions in his stomach; sunken like a stone. Perhaps it had been the look on his face, or maybe Jason really just hadn't been bothered as much as he'd appeared, but the lines on his face softened further as he took in Dick's expression.

“You're doing it wrong,” he said, stepping around Dick and directing his attention to Tim―who was no longer rummaging through boxes, but instead watching the scene unfold. Unexpectedly, Jason pulled out finger guns of his own and matched them with a playful tone that belied his serious expression as he pointed them at Tim and cried, “It's more like: _blam, blam, blam, blam, blam!!!” _

Damian, who'd had his head stuck deep in one of Jason's boxes, suddenly re-emerged wearing something Dick knew Jason had _definitely _pilfered during his younger days―one of Bruce's old cowls that had melted seamlessly into his cape. A prototype of a style Batman had disregarded _years _ago, before even Tim had joined their family.

“Halt!” the littlest Robin yelled back, in a voice loud enough to raise the dead. The shout shocked Dick so much that the tensing of his muscles and the instinct to dive for the nearest family member was only just suppressed in time for him not to make a fool of himself. “Red Hood! No guns! I am here to stop you!”

The disconnect between what Dick knew of Damian's ordinarily stand-offish personality was so great that, at first, he didn't recognise that the littlest member of their group was playing pretend. Even more strangely, a hint of laughter entered Jason's tone as he melodramatically replied, “_Batman!”_

Then, as though time caught up with him all at once, everybody suddenly moved. Dick's coiled muscles sprang into action, happy to finally have release, and his mind reeled with the childishness he hadn't felt buzz through his veins in years―it took him back to broken chandeliers and overly-polished balustrades that were simply _too fun _not to slide down.

Tim almost collided with him as Dick ducked out of the way of Damian's flying kick and declared with half a smothered giggle, “I will never stop my quest for vengeance!”

Beside him, a hoarse, throaty laugh was tearing its way through Tim's entire body, a beaming grin on his face. On his other side he heard Jason shout, “I'm only doing what _you _can't do!” And from somewhere, Damian had managed to pick up a snapped line and was pretending to swing from it with a strength and skill that was all his own.

For Dick, it was in that moment that the real world melted away and suddenly the most important thing in his life wasn't the suspension from his job, or the upturn in his rent, or the criminal nightlife in Blüdhaven… _i__t was staying far enough away from Damian to not get kicked in the head whilst pretending to be Red Hood and waving his finger-guns in Jason's face until the younger stuck out a well-timed foot and tripped him, sacrificing him to the Bat-Damian._

Tim laughed at his misfortune and jumped over his fallen form lightly, skipping out of Damian's way until the littlest Robin collided with Dick's side and the two of them made a temporary truce that Dick soon broke for the fun of the game.

None of them even heard Bruce enter, several hours later.

~

The rabble was in the cave, or so Bruce assumed when he stepped in through the front door of the house before setting his briefcase down by the coat-rack and loosening his tie. It was _much_ too quiet in the house for his quartet of kids to be anywhere else.

“… Alfred?” he called gently, and then again a bit louder when no response came.

Bruce ducked into the kitchen and saw no trace of his butler, so he changed direction and moved back out into the hall, heading for the grandfather clock with the dysfunctional hands. Alfred was either taking full advantage of having such peace and quiet, _or__―_the more likely scenario―he was preventing his children from bickering and tearing each other limb from limb.

It wasn't entirely surprising, then, when he did indeed find Alfred with his boys, but the scene that subsequently unfolded before his eyes wasn't anything less than confounding and mildly bemusing.

The Cave echoed with the sound of laughter, Tim's voice exclaiming a bark of glee as Dick proclaimed, “You will never catch me!! Never!”

It was the joy in his eldest son's voice that had Bruce jerking his head up, eyes scanning the room for a clue as to what on earth could possibly be happening. He hadn't heard Dick sound that happy in years, and well, _didn't that thought just sting._

Bruce didn't have to wait very long to discover the source of all the excitement, however.

“_Yaaaaah!” _Damian cried as he streaked past his father, wearing one of Batman's old cowls that he had disregarded years ago on account of it being rather impractical. Suddenly, he was at a standstill beside his oddly entertained looking butler, who wasn't smirking but had a twinkle in his eye that gave him away regardless.

Jason was hot on the youngest Robin's trail, waving his fingers about as though they were guns, firing several rapid shots at Damian as he too blazed past with, “_Bang, bang, bang!”_

Bruce retained just enough coherent thought to blabber out a half-formed, “What―” before the four boys raced past him once again, not a single one of them acknowledging his presence.

“KABOOM!” Tim shouted, cutting off Bruce with sheer volume.

Dick stumbled backwards and fell into a crouch as Damian pretended to dodge whatever imaginary projectile _that _had been, and Jason took the opportunity to leap-frog over Dick's back and cry, “Ahahaha, I've got a bazooka!!” To which Damian animatedly answered, “No more killing!”

Alfred interrupted the scene to explain, “Sir. I believe the game is called “Red Hood versus Batman.”

Dick had his hands up in the air and was melodramatically yelling: “―But, Batman! I just want to be loved!” With an old Red Hood domino mask affixed to his face.

The impersonation was not well received by Jason. “_I don't sound like that!” _The younger expostulated with an angry snap, as Damian made a leap for him.

“_Come back here!!!” _his youngest son growled, making an attempt at tackling Jason's midsection, but missing by a mile and landing flat on his face when the former twisted skillfully out of reach and went to pinch Dick in the side for his earlier comment.

A swell of warmth flooded Bruce's chest and, before his brain caught up to the rest of him, his feet had already carried him over to where Damian lay defeated on the floor.

“Having a little trouble with Red Hood, are we?” he asked, hearing his knees pop as he crouched down to Damian's level.

It only hurt a little when he saw Damian stiffen at the sound of his voice, the boy's head turning slowly until he cracked one eye open at Bruce. “Father.”

Bruce held out an obliging hand and Damian eyed it suspiciously.

“Don't you think you could use a sidekick?”

The suggestion was enough. Damian sat himself upright and allowed a mischievous smirk to twist his features as he tentatively took Bruce's hand.

“Maybe,” he said, quirking an eyebrow. “Does my sidekick have a name?”

Bruce scoffed light-heartedly. “Of course,” he said, helping Damian to his feet. “You can't have a Batman without a Robin.”

Damian's smirk split into a grin.

“I'll distract them,” the younger said authoritatively, crossing his arms, narrowing his eyes and scrutinising Bruce's blue two piece as though it deeply offended him. “You need to suit up, Robin.”

Bruce's own lips twitched with amusement. “Right,” he nodded, “I'm on it, Batman.”

~

The looks he received from his older son's were one-hundred percent worth the effort, the expressions received from Jason, Tim and Dick, aghast, shocked and delighted, respectively. Damian didn't give himself away behind the cowl, but Bruce suspected humour behind his playful tut as he turned away from Bruce and back to the group, putting on a show that even Dick would be proud of.

In a red shirt, ghastly orange table-cloth, garish green socks and Dick's old Robin mask―the one Damian had smuggled away with his own costume, thinking no one else knew about it―Bruce stepped out of the dark shadows with a wiggle in his hips, horrifying all in a pair of putrid green underpants.

“Red Hood is trickier to catch than I thought,” Damian said, forging on before any of the older boys could gather themselves, then startling everybody with a sharp, “Robin!”

The exclamation momentarily shocked said Robin, but Bruce regained himself quickly enough to answer, “Yes, Batman?”

“Get them!”

Once again, all hell broke loose.

Tim lunged at him with a look in his eye that promised a retribution if he wasn't careful of the kid's elbows.

A Viking warrior seemed to possess his lungs as he charged and yelled, “What do _you _have that I didn't?”

Next to him Dick was being more careful, watching with well-trained eyes to see what weaknesses Bruce would display as he shouted something that sounded an awful lot like, “It's the pretender!!”

Behind the other two, Jason had taken up a wide stance and wore an expression that appeared downright menacing and showed no hint of mercy if he were to make it within arms reach of those balled fists.

Ducking and weaving and using every trick in the book he managed to trip up Tim, who Damian then rather thoughtfully pinned to the floor by sitting on him.

Dick and Jason together were a frightening team and, had they been fighting anyone else, they most certainly would have won. However, it was Bruce who had raised them and _Batman _who'd trained them. No one else knew that Jason always tilted too far to the left when he went for a right-hook, or that Dick's Achilles heel was in his speed. Whilst they didn't make it easy, it was Jason who made the first mistake and ended up toppling their powerful pairing by rushing Bruce whilst he was still recovering from his missed swing. It gave Bruce the perfect opportunity to take advantage and he did so by sliding around to become the perfect target for Dick, who seized the moment only to have Bruce step away sharply and have the boys end up colliding with each other. The comical sight of the two of them almost smacking heads was enough to twitch the corners of his mouth, quickly discerning that neither had really bruised themselves―other than their pride.

Strolling back to Damian's side, he shooed the boy off his older brother's back and hoisted Tim over his shoulder. Tim went easily, all fight gone from him after the humiliation of being bested so quickly and then _sat on._ He just flopped over Bruce's shoulder lamely as the man moved back to the others, pulling them both up by the scruffs of their shirts, Damian standing smugly by the wayside.

Bruce did a quick assessment of all his boys, making sure none were injured, and Damian cleared his throat as he crossed his arms and smirked at the lot of them.

“Good job, Robin,” he acknowledged with a barely perceptible nod toward Bruce. “You get to drive the Batmobile tonight.”

Bruce was about to open his mouth to tell Damian for the umpteenth time that, _'No, Damian was not driving the Batmobile, Period' _when Tim interjected: “Technically you're cheating because he _is _Batman.”

The put-out face Damian pulled made him look his age, for a change, but Bruce wasn't going to let Tim off _that _easily. “Batman, this one seems insane,” he said, adjusting his grip on Tim. “I suggest we put him in Arkham.”

On the ground, Dick's voice shot up an octave as he interjected, _“Please Batman, _I just want to be with you again and with Dick because he is the best brother ever and―”

“―I am going to kill you later.” Jason growled beside him, cutting him off.

Damian cleared his throat once again, “No killing.”

Tim fidgeted in his hold. “Can you put me down now?”

Dick actually did manage to get free after a moment of squirming, taking Jason with him and hauling the other to his feet. Finally, he removed the old mask and handed it back to its rightful owner as Damian, sensing that the fun had come to a close, removed the cape and cowl without fanfare.

Bruce set Tim back on his feet and ruffled the boy's hair before he distanced himself, an embarrassed, shy blush colouring his cheeks.

“Lunch?” Bruce suggested, removing his own borrowed mask and passing it back to Dick, knowing that it would be in his eldest son's possession for maybe a day before Damian stole it back.

Jason clapped his hands at the idea as Alfred, still standing solitary by the door announced his intention of setting about making sandwiches for the lot of them.

“Well that was fun…” Dick mused happily, the lines of laughter still lingering on his face.

“Yeah,” Bruce agreed, looping one arm around Jason's shoulders and the other around Tim's neck, giving them both a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, it was.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for all your support everyone, it has been one heckin' month for me :D


End file.
